Murder of Crows
by Villis
Summary: Repost. Not updated. Typical AU with Blair as an elf. Hurtcomfort.
1. Black Eyes

Jim Ellison came back into himself in a rush of renewed sensations and pain. A hand on his back was the first thing he was truly aware of; the body heat searing through layers of cloth and leather like live coals. The blazing glare of sunlight on broken glass fogged his vision, allowing only random glances of a moving dim shape that knelt at his side. He stiffened and shifted away, fully expecting attack but not yet unable to defend himself. Even that small movement hurt, the air scraping against his exposed skin like a multitude of knives.  
  
It was the voice he registered next, strangely soft against the backdrop of screams and hate and crying from all across the great wide city.  
  
"Just try to breathe," the gently accented murmur insisted, "breathe and let it go. Let it set everything back."  
  
The mercenary did as ordered, desperate for a return to the ordinary. At first he could accomplish little more than gasps, his frame shaking with great sobs for oxygen. But the voice drew his focus out, granted him an anchor in the sea of loud, swirling confusion. Little by little he found a rhythm, deep and slow and even, following the chanting of the voice that had called him from the void where he'd been lost.  
  
"Breathe. Just breathe"  
  
The roaring in his head faded, dying away beneath this gentler onslaught. Cautiously he opened his eyes to find the world had gone brown and ugly again, absolutely beautiful in its dull intensity. Never before had he been so pleased to look upon regular street slime, its sheen merely dreary instead of a replica of the sun at high noon. With that blessed sight everything else seemed to snap into place and he raised his head, survival instincts finally returning along with the outside world.  
  
Wide, strangely shaped blue eyes met his own with a calm that was startling, considering he recognized the elf as the one who had only just recently stolen from him. A trip to the market district had ended abruptly when the comfortable sensation of his full money purse against his hip had fallen away, the small pouch lifted by a quick shadow that had disappeared into the dead end alley where he now knelt. Ellison had given chase, a bit surprised when he realized the thief he was pursuing had the stride and small frame of an elf. It had been easy to corner the pickpocket, half amused at the dark terror and shock plain on the narrow face, showing clearly it was the first time he'd been caught in the act. The mercenary had been ready to reclaim what was his and teach the thief a small lesson about justice when a raven had flown over both their heads. The flutter of its wings and black glitter of its feathers had captured his attention and drawn him in, caught so deeply in the mysterious sheen of its eyes that everything had simply fallen away, blended into the depths of the darkness.  
  
But now the world was back and the elf was still there, as brazen as though no trespass had been made. He could only think how strange that was.  
  
They studied in each in deep silence for a moment. The elf was almost a full two heads shorter than Ellison, probably no more than a teen of his kind. Matted dark curls framed a face that was all sharp angles and shadowed hollows and Ellison mentally amended his label from elf to street rat. A street rat that had stolen from him. A street rat who knew how to fix the spells that had been haunting him for more than a year.  
  
With a growl he lunged forward and grabbed a skinny arm, ignoring the shocked yelp. "What did you do?" he growled harshly, tightening his grip and watching as the clear blue of the elf's irises swirled and went black in panic. "Did you cast a spell, vermin?"  
  
The small frame twisted in his hands, the elf's face frozen in a feral grin of fear that exposed sharp canines. "Not me, not me!" the thief shouted, "Saw you fall, thought I could help! Would I have stopped if I did it?"  
  
Panting in short, sharp gasps, the elf pulled sharply to the right, putting all of his meager weight behind the motion at the same moment that Ellison tried to still the writhing body by jerking him forward. Tendon and bone separated with a dull pop and the elf howled, eyes flashing a glowing red. With a muffled curse the mercenary released him as though he had been burned, feeling sick when he saw the abused arm now hung limp and at an awkward angle. Dislocated shoulder, at the least. He had no problem using his superior strength to intimidate his enemy but he'd never meant to cause real damage against a captured, half starved youth, elf or not.  
  
Made clumsy by his blind need to get away, the street rat tripped over himself and fell hard, crying out again when his shoulder hit the rough stone. He was alreadly trying to push himself away before he gained his feet, freezing when his back hit the alley wall. Ellison reached for him, wanting to somehow calm the frantic heart that he could actually hear, thrumming so fast that it was starting to skip in its rhythm, the normal beat destroyed by a hard life and added fear. He knew before he completed the move that it had been the wrong thing to do just from the widening of the glowing, changing eyes. The elf cringed and threw himself to the side, somehow rolling over so that he balanced on knees and one hand, the other tucked up to his thin chest. The golden glow that suddenly engulfed him was too bright to look at directly and Ellison took a step back himself, cursing himself for allowing the change and not eager to see the result.  
  
Skin and cloth melted smoothly to fur and the sharp features blurred, becoming wolf. The meld was quick and seamless and Ellison had no time to react as the wounded animal surged forward, teeth snapping shut millimeters from his still outstretched fingers. Instinct served him well and Ellison pulled back in time, bringing his other arm quickly up and catching the scabby muzzle in an iron grip. With the fangs secured it was a relatively simple manner to straddle the thrashing beast and press it down to the dirt, knees on either side.  
  
"Calm down!" he ordered sharply, giving the muzzle in his hands a jerk to focus the elf's attention, "I'm not going to hurt you. I didn't mean to before. I just need to know what happened."  
  
The thin sides heaved against his thighs, frantic breaths rasping in lungs wet with infection. Muscles strained as the wolf pushed against him, testing the resolve of his capturer. Ellison could hear the struggling heart again, the beat so frantic he briefly contemplated knocking the wolf out just to prevent a heart attack. He was saved from such drastic action by the sudden stilling of his prisoner, the fight leaving as suddenly as though a switch had been thrown. Amber eyes rolled up to glare at Ellison, their message all too clear. The elf wasn't happy about it...but he was surrendering.  
  
"Don't try anything," the mercenary growled, putting far more threat in his voice than he actually felt, suddenly weary of the fight. He very much doubted one sick, starved elf was going to be much of a threat anyway if he did decide to attack, wolf form or not. As soon as his grip was loosened the thief squirmed free, bolting the few steps to the far wall and crouching on three trembling legs. It was only now that the raw, oozing wound along the stark ribs became clear and Ellison winced, knowing it was his weight that had reopened it. By Gaiaza's name, at this rate he'd kill the little thief before he got the information he needed.  
  
He crouched carefully to mirror the animal's posture, keeping his body between the street rat and escape and squarely meeting the glare that regarded him with anger and suspicion. He extended a daring hand; hopeful that in this form the elf could somehow smell or sense the lack of a threat. Immediately the wolf was moving, snapping at the offered limb with savage, drooling jaws. It surprised Jim himself when he neither flinched nor punched the animal in the muzzle, some unconscious thought keeping him still and steady. Again impulse served him well. The long yellowed fangs shut well clear of his fingers, giving him proof that the elf had no real desire to hurt him, and his lack of reaction had confused the thief enough so that he drew back and settled on his haunches, furry ears coming forward slowly.  
  
"You know what's going on with me," Ellison said quietly, not a question, "Just tell me and you can keep the money." The street rat snorted and began to pace, his gait staggering and his tail tucked well between his hind legs. Though it had slowed, the heart hidden beneath the sharp breastbone was still skipping, a regular stutter in its beat. The sound was great and all encompassing, an organic orchestra fighting too hard to find a rhythm.  
  
The feel of fur against his calloused fingertips brought Ellison back to himself with a gasp and shudder. The wolf was carefully pushing its broad head into his hands, pawing at him even though the action threatening to make the thief simply fall over. It took a moment to regain his clarity and shakily he realized that the street rat more than just knew what was happening. He knew how to fix it. He swallowed his pride and looked into the lupine eyes that watched him warily, ready to flee at another outburst. The desperation that had been part of him for so long now led him to speak his next words, admitting that which he never would have dreamed of revealing. The elf was a thief, a street rat, a bandit of the lowest order...but if he could provide just a clue, the smallest hint of what was happening...he had to risk doing the nearly impossible and asking for help.  
  
"Please," he offered, "I'm going insane."  
  
Silence reigned as neither man nor wolf moved, both frozen by the impact of the quietly spoken plea. The elf had not backed off and stood only a few inches from Ellison's grasp, a ragged mess of fresh blood and matted fur that stank of sickness. His gaze was measuring and somehow deeply serene, his choice clear before he signaled it with a sharp growl and a shiver that dissolved fur back to skin and torn clothes.  
  
"You are a Sentinel," the thief said quietly, regaining the lost distance and beginning to pace again at the back of the alley, cradling the wounded arm. His face was pale, even for his species, and a patch of crimson at his side betrayed the gash still bled, yet his face and manner betrayed little pain. His voice, no longer quite so frantic, was oddly deep and even. "You need a Guide. You have no control."  
  
Jim still carefully blocked the path to freedom, not mistaking the calm for anything less than a break in the storm. He could read the desire for escape in every furtive glance and nervous step of the creature across from him. "What is a Sentinel?" he barked harshly, already confused at the words and thusly angry. The elf reacted to the irritation by baring his teeth in a warning grin, exposing the fangs retained from his Shift form. It might have actually been threatening if Ellison hadn't been convinced a small shove would send the elf flying.  
  
"One who guards. You may see all, touch all, taste all, smell all, and hear all. You have been in danger, perhaps living alone for some time, yes?"  
  
"Yes," Ellison agreed softly, shocked that the secret past of his life could be so easily read by one whom he had never before met. "A very long time."  
  
The elf nodded and it was clear the answer had been entirely expected. "You must have a Guide..." he hesitated for the first time, furrowing his brow as he searched for words. "A person to be part of. A person your senses will always know, even in battle. Only that will stop the spells, the trances."  
  
Ellison frowned tightly; unable to completely ignore what was being said even as his instincts told him the half-dead thief could not be trusted. Already the conversation had taken turns to areas that made his gut twist in something close to fear...there was too much talk of dependence on another here, too much talk of bonds and ties. He sought solitude for a reason, trances be damned. And yet...  
  
"Where can I find this Guide?" he questioned.  
  
The young elf's eyes darkened. "There are few born with those skills, as there are few born with yours in these times. I was meant to be so but was proven false. I know the methods but have not the power. Seek the Wake and plead your case there."  
  
Sheer willpower was all that kept Jim from laughing outright at that suggestion. The Wake was the ruling community of elves, residing outside the actual society and yet controlling almost every element of elven life through rules that could change from day to day. They allowed few humans to audience...at least voluntarily. They have no moral difficulty with kidnapping those few humans who did somehow attract their interest, even when it risked the lives of their own subjects through threatened revenge. The mercenary was well aware that any gifts they might grant came with a price that was rarely worth the boon and he had no intention of going begging to their doorstep only to find that they could control his senses by cutting out his eyes or some similar evil.  
  
Though if the elf spoke true the solution was right in front of him, shivering in the quickly rising night chill. "You know the methods?" he questioned, his tone coming out more harshly than even he intended. His patience was quickly failing as his own fatigue caught up to him, fueled by too many nights spent searching for work.  
  
"No," the elf said immediately, stopping his pacing to stand stiff and still with a frigid dignity, "The methods, perhaps, but I can not Guide. It is not in my blood."  
  
"I'll let you keep the money," Jim offered again, hating how pitiful the offer sounded and the fact he had been so neatly driven into making it. He could not really afford to even spare what had been stolen, though it was hardly all his savings. The trance like spells had destroyed his reputation, making jobs few and far between these days when once they had been plentiful. The missions he did manage to take and complete were all too often for employers on the short end of the stick themselves, able to afford little more in payment than bartering goods. Yet if the elf could explain could to keep the world level and his own senses controlled he'd be able to really work again and the same amount of stolen coins would be trivial. It was a wager he would have to take.  
  
"You refuse to understand," the elf snapped and rolled his eyes, the phrase so rudely wise that Ellison's hackles rose. "In order for one to be a Guide he must bond with the Sentinel. I can not bond and I can not Guide you."  
  
"But you stopped the attack."  
  
"I talked you back, yes. Things are not so simple. You will continue to lose the world to your senses. If you don't bind the trances will never stop entirely. I can teach you to lessen them but it is not an answer to the greater problem."  
  
"Alright, then teach me," Ellison said, hoping the elf didn't understand the begging for what it was. He would not go to the Wake and so would never bond.  
  
He had rarely hated himself more than at that moment, knowing that all his bravado couldn't stop his pathetic fear and need from being read and examined by a dirty street rat. He could see the sudden glint flare to life in the thief's eyes when he realized the truth...and the advantage of it.  
  
"I will help. I will teach you control. But I need more money," he said quietly then whispered the last word, savoring it like the finest wine, "Salary..."  
  
Ellison sighed but nodded, not at all surprised it had come to that. "How long will it take?"  
  
"I cannot say. That depends on how well you listen."  
  
"Fine. Here's the deal. I get you off the street. I provide a meal a day. A few clothes. That's it. Nothing more."  
  
"Deal," the elf said immediately, his entire body suddenly nearly vibrating with an excitement that was almost amusing. He held out his good hand, the signs of sickness and weakness fading beneath a joy that couldn't be faked. "I am Blair."  
  
"Jim Ellison"  
  
They gripped wrists and stared levelly at each other, a silent message being sent by both pairs of blue eyes. The pact was done, sealed, and they had only this last bit of posturing to really finish things. With body language passed down from their common ancestors they communicated more eloquently than language could allow. 'Mess with me, try and turn this bad, hurt me, lie to me...and I'll hunt you down and kill you'.  
  
The elf...Blair, he had to remember that now...broke eye contract first with a small flicker off the side. That small movement was vastly reassuring, putting Ellison back in charge and control and relaxing his nerves. It was only the small smile that curved the thief's lips that made him realize the waver had been planned and executed only to put him at ease. The elf might be a rat but he was a clever one...how clever Ellison was just now starting to appreciate. He couldn't afford to underestimate this one.  
  
"I have duties to put in order," Blair said with a formal nod, "I will met you here tomorrow at this time." His stance was tense, wary of refusal or argument.  
  
"If you don't show, I'll find you," Ellison promised, though he knew full well he wouldn't bother. The offer was too tempting for the elf to just abandon. If he didn't show there would be a likely chance he was dead. With one functioning arm and an infected wound, he made an appealing target to all the other street scum and vagabonds that roamed the city. A rat was a rat and rats pulled their own kind down when they scented blood in the air.  
  
The elf laughed. "If I'm not there, you'd never be able to find me."  
  
"I'd find you."  
  
A bit more silent posturing and bluffing toward each other, then Ellison stepped to the side and let the elf pass. "I can help that arm," he said as the thief moved past him, feeling renewed guilt at the sight of it hanging awkwardly. Blair looked surprised for a second, glancing down at the limb as if it didn't belong to him or the injury had been forgotten. "I will tend to it," he said tersely, then shimmered and shrank down to three paws, disappearing out of the alley at a limping trot that was still annoying graceful. Jim shook his head as his offer was rebuffed, attention caught by the stark blood dotting the paw prints on the alley floor. It would be very annoying if his only shot at understanding his condition ended up dead simply because of stubborn pride. He might have insisted if he didn't understand just how important pride could be when a person's luck was dead and buried. Pride could be more powerful than both love and hate as a driving force.


	2. Sky Dragons

The feathers danced, dissolving into a dragon with a gaping maw that breathed white flame. In its death throes the dragon became a stooping falcon, the falcon a great stalking cat, the cat a blur of wings. The wings faded into wisps, swept away by a rising wind that carried the chill of coming snow.  
  
Blair tore his gaze from the shifting winter clouds with an effort, expelling his held breath in a shudder that shook his skinny frame. Instinct urged him to curl into himself and he fought against it, knowing full well the omens rushing overhead wouldn't pass by harmlessly no matter how small and insignificant he made himself. He was no Oracle, blessed with insight of things to come, but he did understand that hunters in the sky above meant death was coming on the ground below. Death by blood and battles...  
  
He shook himself sharply and began to pace, trying to push such dark musings away. The city had taught him that energy could never wasted on vague threats and superstitions, not when real danger haunted every turn. In his younger days it had seemed a good and proper thing to spend days hovering by streams to read the secrets of their ripples, seeking direction from an earth that seemed full of hidden singing and promises. Time moved differently in this new world of dead wood and suffocating anger, transformed from the floating days and languid nights of his homeland. Here time was sharp, immediate and pressing, brutal in its constant demands. His body had to be fed, shelter sought, space protected. For a being that might live a thousand years or more such concepts nearly hurt to grasp. Blair no longer had the luxury of a future waiting, stretching out and already mapped for travel. Here there was only the moment, too fleeting and full of sudden importance.  
  
Now his makeshift sling was chafing at his neck and the shadows were lengthening and these seemed far more pressing matters than any ghostly predators the sky could show. Ellison was late. That came as no real surprise, though it did make him angry that he had wasted any time bothering to wait for the human. His memories of their encounter were confused, blurring by stress and fear, but it hadn't escaped him that the fledging Sentinel was desperate and groping at any hope. With a day between them to reflect and consider, the elf didn't dare believe that the man had missed his own pitiful need and begging. The offer of food, clothes, a salary had led him to make promises he knew he couldn't keep and he hadn't hidden his eagerness nearly so smoothly as he should have.  
  
Yet still he paced, watching the dust his footfalls stirred rising into the still air and trying hard to ignore the ache settling in his bones. He had little enough left without abandoning his hope. The deal was simply too perfect to let pass idly by. The human Sentinel knew nothing of his own powers or heritage, could only guess at the potential he was meant to achieve and that Blair couldn't help him reach. But control...that the elf could grant or anyone else with a gift of talking slowly and staying calm himself, though there was certainly no need for the human ever to discover that little fact. Even on the coldest night he had never dreamed that such a mark would fall into his lap.  
  
But the sun was sinking fast and dusk was the most dangerous and fruitful time. Ellison wasn't coming and he needed to steal a better sling at the marketplace. He spun on his heel, shoving his feelings of disappointment brutally away. It actually took him several steps to realize a large form leaned casually against the stone that marked the entrance to the alley, the dying light highlighting the sword at its hip. In one swift second Blair went from wishing the Sentinel would show to wondering how in the world he had been so foolish. An automatic snarl bubbled from his throat as he tensed and slide back, restless nerves screaming in warning. The human could kill him with very little effort and had shown yesterday that he was not without temper. If he had realized that Blair was little more than a beggar aspiring to be cunning why did the elf assume he would merely let it pass?  
  
The wolf rose in him and he welcomed it, his own sight and smell sharpening as the spirit animal's body replaced his own. His own naivety had caused this mess but he would not go easily, would not let this human win. He'd disgraced his people enough without that final indignity! He was elf, he was wolf, he was power and grace and tied to worlds Ellison would never see or suspect.  
  
He gathered himself and charged, aiming for the man's unguarded throat.


	3. Circles

Ellison sidestepped the flying bundle of fur and fury with casual ease, wincing in sympathetic reaction when the wolf crashed into the rough stone wall hard enough to drive the air from his lungs with an audible whoosh. He moved past the staggering elf to the back of the alley, plopping onto the nearest handy crate and leaning back on his elbows to study the sky with its glimmer of early stars. "So you can control this?" he asked the still winter air, refusing to even glance at the recovering, growling street rat. He was too tired, too confused, and far too frustrated to deal with such juvenile threat displays, especially not from little thieves who overestimated their own strength. He hadn't even intended to make this meeting, had gone to bed confident that all the elf had promised to earnestly was a simple, cruel scam. He'd even accepted the loss of his money, drawing on a stoic pride that had served him well during a long life of similar disappointments. Unfortunately fate wasn't through playing with him and at some time in the night a shrill scream had captured his senses, leaving him listening to the bouncing of its echoes for hours. He'd come out of the trance disorientated, exhausted, and ready to whirl a dead cat over his head nine times if someone pledged it would just make the madness top. What could showing up cost him that wasn't already at risk?  
  
Even such fatalistic thinking didn't mean he intended to be foolish, however, and he'd seen that Blair was spoiling for a fight even before the elf registered the mercenary's presence. It had been no surprise when he'd snapped and charged and that lack of shock let Ellison repeat what had worked so well during their first encounter...doing the unexpected. He'd learned in the past just how thoroughly that could short circuit the protective instinct of someone thinking they were in trouble and it seemed this time was no exception.  
  
The wolf on the far side of the cramped little side street shook its boney frame with a rustle of fur, huffed a sign, and Changed with an explosion of golden light that briefly transformed dusk to dawn. They both kept silent for a moment and studied each other, reconfirming the first impressions that had formed only a day ago. The elf was still scruffy but a clean bandage supported his ribcage and a triangle of cloth cradled his arm, which hung at a proper angle again. Dark circles rimmed silver eyes and within a few seconds the tense shoulders fell and he slumped without ceremony against the wall, sighing again. It was clear by his sudden relaxation that he'd accepted Ellison wasn't likely to try to kill him within at least the next few hours.  
  
"I cannot control it. I can teach you to control it by using all of your senses together. You are young to this and it is easy to focus only on hearing or sight and allow your mind to know only that one sensation. As I believe you humans say-you lose the forest for the trees, yes? I will teach you to remain open in all of your senses. You must allow time and patience for your mind to accept such a change."  
  
It was by fair the longest thing the elf had said to him and Jim was not surprised he understood little of it. What he did grasp made an odd kind of sense that felt more intuitive than logical and that was comforting. He hadn't really expected a straight answer, knowing all too well the delicate game being played by them both, but something told him this wasn't an outright lie. That was good enough at this stage of things. "Time and patience while I'm paying you, I assume," the mercenary said dryly, "I'll need to travel soon."  
  
Blair shrugged with one shoulder. "There's nothing holding me in this place."  
  
Nothing holding him and plenty to escape from, Jim wagered. He pushed himself to his feet and moved to stand in front of the smaller elf, extending a hand to formally seal the deal. The hand that grasped his wrist was hot with fever but the grip was firm and offered without hesitance. "Teach me control," Ellison said simply.  
  
The elf's lips peeled back in a grin, eyes flashing a sudden, shocking blue. "I shall. But for the moment…for the moment I do believe you promised a meal a day?"


End file.
